Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts
by AQueenoftheStars
Summary: Bulgaria's famous young seeker lost his heart to her without her ever having realized.
1. A Grumpy-Looking Genius

Notes: Hello all! Trying something a little different now! I made the terrible mistake of beginning to reread the Harry Potter series in the midst of all my final exams. These books are far too addicting. I don't know what I was thinking. Anyway, it resulted in some writing, as always unbeta'd and full of mistakes I'm sure. (Also, it's almost 4 am here, I should probably get to sleep.) As always, I hope you enjoy!

Story note: Just in case it's not clear, all of the **bold** writing implies that the speaker is speaking Bulgarian. I am also guilty of faking an Egyptian accent. Apologies! Now, on with the fic!

**Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ The Quidditch World Cup**

**Chapter 1: A Grumpy-Looking Genius**

_CRUNCH_

Viktor Krum heard his opponent hit the ground hard behind him. His vision was blurred by the blood spilling from his nose, but he could still see the glint of gold in front of him. A moment more, his arm stretched just a little farther, and... Yes! He had the snitch!

He swerved upwards, away from the grass, his toes skimming the field as he held the snitch aloft.

The cheering began softly as most of the stands were preoccupied with the civil war occurring on the field. The veela, halfway transformed into birdlike creatures, stopped screeching at the leprechauns as the sound of Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice rang out across the stadium.

"IRELAND WINS!"

Viktor slumped onto his broom, his arm still raised displaying the caught snitch.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS -"

The rest of the commentary was drowned out as Viktor reached the field, a team of mediwizards surrounding him at once.

"Mr. Krum, if you could stand still please-" began a female mediwitch. She had blonde hair, wore a mask over her nose and mouth and was followed by three stocky wizards. Two of the mediwizards placed a hand on either of his shoulders, while the third grabbed his broom.

Viktor turned away from her, batting the wand from her hand. "I am fine." Shaking off the mediwizards, he turned away from the giant scoreboard flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 just as Zograf and Levski appeared.

**"It was a good end."** Viktor shrugged and said nothing, allowing himself to be slapped on the shoulder by Nikolai Zograf, their keeper, as Vulchanov and Volkov headed over, looking dejected.

Dimitrov landed beside the group, followed closely by Ivanova.

**"You should have waited." **Aleksandar Dimitrov, a chaser and captain, spoke directly to Viktor, his tone cold an authoritative.

Viktor's expression did not change beneath the layer of blood and sweat. **"Why? So we could be beaten by another hundred points?"**

Dimitrov's eyes narrowed, but he did not disagree.

His teammates nodded, dispirited but in agreeance with their young seeker. It would have been futile to attempt to catch up. They knew just as well as Viktor that their team did not have the effortless synchronism that the Irish had. It had been on Viktor's own shoulders to beat the opposing team. A trial which he had failed at.

Natasha Ivanova, a thin woman with short, dark hair and bright blue eyes, threw an arm around Viktor's shoulder.** "Come, there will be many more Quidditch World Cups in your lifetime."** The chaser smiled, displaying all her white teeth and one silver one, and began leading him towards the top box. **"Let us celebrate your first defeat."**

The others shrugged and began to follow them. Dimitrov was frowning deeply, but took the lead as they headed to accept their defeat. Zvetan Volkov and Vladimir Vulchanov, the two beaters, followed on either side of Viktor and Natasha.

**"On the plus side, at least we got bit of gold."** Volkov grinned impishly, showing Natasha the pile of galleons in his pocket.

**"And here I thought we were getting paid for this."** Vulchanov sighed. Viktor snorted at his teammates deadpan, before being jostled by Natasha as she elbowed Zvetan for asking whether he finally had enough galleons to buy himself a date with her.

The Bulgarian Quidditch team stomped up the steps all the way up to the top box.

**"Hopefully with the winnings they'll be able to buy themselves a new seeker, Krum."** Natasha whispered, hearing the whoops and cheers of the Irish team as they followed a few floors below, her arm still slung across Viktor's neck. She shot a pointed glance at Zvetan ahead her, who rubbed his ribcage woundedly where she'd jabbed him. She released Viktor as they reached the top box.

They all entered single file into the crowded box, just as Bagman called out to the stands, "Let's have it for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!"

He waited, last in line as Bagman called each of his teammates' names in turn. Four seats from the right, Viktor noticed a girl with long, curly brown hair and front teeth that were just a shy too large. She was clapping just as vigorously as the dark haired boy on her left and the red haired one on her right. Smiling, she turned her brown eyes on him as Bagman called his name, and he was surprised by how bright they were. Her chocolate curls reflected the gold light of the stadium and her cheeks were rosy with excitement. Her smile widened as the cheering in the stands reached deafening levels, and a soft humming began in the pit of his stomach.

Viktor began to smile back just as her gaze slipped past him and out the top box door as the Irish team entered.

He realized she was surrounded by a group all sporting green rosettes on their shirts (the red haired boy to her left had on a green top hat that clashed terribly with his hair) and felt doubly dejected, having for just a moment forgotten that his team had been so recently defeated.

The stadium crowds exploded with cheers as Bagman called out the names of the Irish team. Natasha kept Viktor's spirit up whispering things like **"Yes, definitely a new seeker," **at the sight of Aidan Lynch being supported by two of his teammates and **"No wonder they work well together, they're cut from the same grass,**" this last comment directed at the spectacularly green cloth the Irish team's uniforms were made of.

Finally it was time to leave the box and the team headed out and back down to the field to their dressing room.

Zvetan collapsed onto a bench when they arrived, panting **"Why couldn't we have just flown up there? Those stairs are murderous."** Viktor threw off his gloves, sitting on the opposite bench as he began to undo his shoes.

Nikolai rolled his eyes at the beater and shoved Zvetan off the bench head first before sitting down himself. **"Young men are so lazy these days."** Their keeper was the oldest player of the team at thirty-five and had won seven Quidditch Cups in his career. Of the other six players on the team, he seemed the least put out.

Zvetan was rubbing his head as Vladimir helped him stand. **"And old men are so grumpy."**

Aleksandar entered the room before Nikolai could retort and slumped onto the bench beside Viktor, head in his hands. **"So close. So close..."** he muttered to himself. The team knew that he had been planning to retire once they'd won the Quidditch cup. It would have been his fifth cup on the team and he had a number of advertising deals lined up for once he'd left. Now he had a whole new Quidditch season and tournament to play through before he could consider retiring again.

Viktor, now unburden by his boots, leaned back against the wall, the weight of their loss hitting him again.

Aleksandar sighed and stood, nodding at Natasha as she entered through the divide to her private dressing room, still in uniform and her bag slung over her shoulder. He turned and looked over his team. Viktor thought he looked more defeated than usual. Ignoring Zvetan who was winking, halfway through the process of undressing, at their female chaser, the captain addressed his team.

**"We fought hard out there, men."** Natasha, who had been on the team for several years as the only female, slumped down on the bench beside Nikolai, nonplussed at being called a man. Aleksandar had been running the team long before Natasha joined and hadn't felt the need to revise his speeches at her arrival. Their captain looked like he wanted to say more, but defeat was heavy on him. He simply paused before ending with, **"Next time, the cup will be ours!"**

"Hear, hear!" Zvetan cheered in English, causing his teammates to smile and groan. Zvetan had been on the team only two years longer than Viktor had. He was twenty-two and stocky with dark brown hair and eyes and a boundless amount of energy.

The rest of the team followed Natasha's lead and gathered their things without changing.

Zvetan pulled his uniform back on ("Why'd you bother taking it off!" Natasha griped.) and the group headed out of the dressing room.

The stands were empty now but over the walls of the stadium, Viktor could hear the celebrating continuing among the fans.

Nikolai let out a whistle, staring across the bright green field and the golden hoops. **"I wish our practice field was this beautiful."** The others nodded at the comment, before the referee Mostafa spotted them and hurried over.

"You arr' almust late!" He cried in his thick Egyptian accent. He was carrying a rusted metal bucket and Viktor internally groaned. He disliked any form of travel that didn't involve a broom.

As though mirroring Viktor's thoughts, Svetan also groaned, looking longingly over the walls of the stadium. He evidently wanted to stay and party with the fans, regardless that they didn't win the match.

Aleksandar apologized to the referee in Bulgarian accented English and accepted the bucket.

**"Everyone, together please."**

Viktor placed a finger apprehensively on the bucket, focusing his thoughts on the things he would do when he got home. He still had all his school books to buy and Professor Karkaroff had mentioned wanting to meet with him prior to the school year starting.

His teammates assembled around him, and the group waited as Aleksandar watched the hands of his watch. Viktor noticed Svetan's eyes glancing back at the stands and the parties behind it.

Viktor wondered what kind of sensation it would be if they stayed to celebrate their defeat with their fans. Viktor grimaced at the idea of the frenzy their appearance would cause. The young seeker had not gotten used to the craze that ensued wherever he visited. The wizards who wanted him to sign anything for them, the witches who wanted him to sign any _part_ of them...it was all a bit overwhelming.

The image of the girl in the box came back to him. She looked just a little younger than he was and while she wasn't dazzlingly pretty, the brightness in her eyes gave her a sort of quiet, intelligent beauty that caused his stomach to buzz slightly inside of him. The feeling sunk a bit as he remember the swath of Irish supporters around her, but as he concentrated on the memory of her, he realized she herself had not been bedecked in green.

"Ten, nine, eight..." Distantly, Viktor heard Aleksandar begin to countdown, still thinking of the pretty girl with the brown eyes and wide smile. Then, just as it occurred to him that she was most likely British and that he really had no chance of ever seeing her again, the captain reached "one" and Viktor was pulled forward as though a hook had snagged him by the navel and his thoughts of the mysterious girl scattered in a howl of wind and a swirl of color.


	2. The Potion Maker's Son

Notes: Hello again! It's so wonderful to be on vacation, I can get so much writing done! As always, I apologize for any and all spelling and/or grammar atrocities as they are solely mine. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last. I have a tendency to rush through things like plots and backstory, (I just want to get to the romance!) but I've attempted to slow myself down. Anyway, soon we'll be at Hogwarts and then things will truly be fun! Also, I've tried extremely hard to stay as true to canon as possible. If anyone sees any glaring errors, however, let me know and I'll fix them right up. Enough with my blathering, on with the fic!

**Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ Bulgaria**

**Chapter 2: The Potion Maker's Son**

The days blurred by in a whirlwind of anticipation.

Karkaroff stopped by three days after the Quidditch World Cup bursting with news.

**"They've reinstated the Triwizard cup!"** He practically shouted at them once he, Mr. Krum, and Viktor were seated with steaming mugs of tea in the library.

Tihomir Krum, Viktor's father, looked skeptical and his son looked between the two, his expression stoic. Only his furrowed eyebrows revealed Viktor's confusion.

**"But why now, Karkaroff? It has been many years since the tournament inacted. Before my father's time even."**

**"Yes, exactly,"** the professor's eyes were gleaming. **"They believe they have created it to be more manageable this time. Rules have been enacted, an age limit set. It's all been kept very quiet, but I had to inform our champion of course." **At this, Karkaroff looked at Viktor with pride. **"You will win and bring honor to our school."**

Finally Viktor spoke, **"What is this tournament?"**

Karkaroff inhaled as though to speak but his father began first, **"It is a contest between the three schools, Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang. From each school a champion is chosen-"**

**"That will be you,"** interrupted Karkaroff**. "They compete through three tasks on which they are scored. And whichever witch or wizard gets the most points-"**

**"Or is left standing."** It was Mr. Krum's turn to interject.

**"Er, yes, the winner gains honor to for their school and a thousand galleons."**

Mr. Krum had a look of deep concentration. **"Aren't the champions selected by an impartial judge?" **he asked Karkaroff, who waved him off.

**"Certainly. But no one is better suited to the tournament than our Viktor."**

Mr. Krum's expression was still intense, **"Where is it being held?"**

Karkaroff grimaced,** "Hogwarts. I fought valiantly for Durmstrang of course, but Dumbledore has a way over the Minister."**

Mr. Krum thought for a moment before turning his gaze on his son. He asked, **"Viktor?"**

Viktor nodded to his father and looked to his professor whose expression was already certain. **"I will enter."**

His father, having read much about the Triwizard tournament, returned home with a cauldron load of books the following evening. Each night, Mr. Krum would pull a different book from the stack and train Viktor on one specific spell.

The night before Viktor was to head back to Durmstrang they were focusing on a spell that caused an opponent's eyes to swell. Formally known as the Conjunctivitis Curse, his father called it the Pink Eye Curse, a joke that was lost on his son.

Viktor's dreams were now filled with every kind of test. A forest maze, the dark trees hiding every kind of formidable creature within its branches; a wizarding duel among all three competitors at once; a race on the back of hippogriffs, where spells were dropped like nets to ensnare the following opponents; and occasionally saving a dark-haired, bright-eyed girl from the clutches of a dragon.

His headmaster had given him book after book on the Triwizard Tournament and told him to prepare, and every past task gave his mind more fodder for his dreams.

Finally, the day for Viktor to return to school was upon him. He woke early to the pacing steps of his father in the study, no longer writing a dissertation on the thicknesses of cauldron bottoms, but still reading through the books the professor had given his son, trying to find every spell he would be wise to prepare Viktor with.

Viktor collected the last of his things, grabbing an extra pair of boots and pulling his uniform's fur cap from where it lay beneath his bed before tossing it into the pile. Satisfied with his load, he dragged the heavy trunk down the stairs to the kitchen. His father had already begun making breakfast, his many years of potion brewing had made a fine chef out of Mr. Krum. He poured a steaming bowl for his son and placed it beside a stack of five hefty books.

**"Viktor, my boy! Good morning."** Mr. Krum was a jolly man, thick and muscled like his son, but on a much larger scale. A thick black beard surrounded his smiling mouth and his rich, dark hair had a lone streak of silver.

** "You will take these with you. They are the only ones you'll need."** He went back to stirring the pot in from of him and Viktor, having heaved his trunk to the edge of the fireplace, sat heavily in front of his breakfast and pulled the topmost book towards him. His father had marked the pages that would be most helpful with small slips of paper, upon which he'd written some notes.

_This one is good against trolls_, one note said, his father's neat script clear beside the spell. Another stated, _This must be spoken clearly. Practice, practice._

Viktor, thrilled to see that none of the books in his stack pertained to potions, closed the book and focused on eating his breakfast. He'd never been very skilled at brewing, much to his father's chagrin. Mr. Krum the elder had brewed potions for most of his life at the nearby St. Ana's Hospital for the Ill and Enchanted, though he was currently on sabbatical working on a number of articles for the Bulgarian Journal of Potion Making.

He heard quick light steps on the floor above and sure enough his mother burst into the room, a comb in her hand as she brushed her hair.

**"Oh thank you darling."** Mrs. Krum kissed her husband as she accepted a mug of tea from him. **"I'm afraid I'll be late again tonight, my dear. I wish I could see you off to school my Viktor, but the Minister is in quite a mood. He's expecting me at once." **She grabbed her son's face and pecked him on both cheeks, her eyes glistening as she pulled away. **"I suppose we won't see you for Christmas this year, but I understand we can come to see your final task."** She looked to her husband to confirm this and he nodded. **"Well, good luck my son, I know you'll win!" **With one more kiss on his forehead, Viktor's mother apparated to work.

Mr. Krum pouted, muttering that he hadn't gotten a goodbye kiss, "It's like she's married to that grouch." Mrs. Krum worked as undersecretary to the minister and kept odd hours as such.

Viktor ignored his father's griping, he knew that it was all for naught. Viktor had never seen purer love than that between his ridiculous parents, who often were far more reminiscent of teenagers than full-grown adults.

Viktor finished breakfast and collected his books to add them to his heavy trunk. He looked at his watch and realized it was time within the time frame to leave. His father walked over to the fireplace and clasped his son's shoulder.

**"You will do well, my son. Write if you should need anything."**

Viktor nodded and grabbed a handful of floo powder off the mantel.

**"Goodbye father, I'll speak with you soon."**

With one more pat, his father released him and Viktor grabbed one end of his trunk. Throwing his handful of powder into the fire, he said "Durmstrang" and disappeared in a swirl of green flames.


	3. A Sickness and a Vision

Notes: Hello again! Thank you again to everyone who has left me a review. I am thrilled to know that you are enjoying this story. Also, I am happy to announce that I have finally found a beta, the lovely rumrunner, so the chapters should be filled with fewer nonsensical mistakes, though I do take full responsibility for any left over. And... That's all! Enjoy!

**Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ Durmstrang**

**Chapter 3: A Sickness and a Vision**

September and October passed bleakly at the Durmstrang School of Wizardry. Students could be seen carrying small glowing fires with them wherever they went and, the very night the students had arrived, a raging storm had covered the grounds in a heavy layer of snow.

With the constant, howling wind and a sheet of ice and sleet that never seemed to pause, Viktor Krum spent most of his time inside the castle preparing for the challenges he might face in the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. Every morning he spent in his two classes: Potion Brewing (at the behest of his father) and Dark Arts Studies. Each night he would spend dueling other seventh years with the spells and curses he'd spent the afternoon learning. His studies had never been so diligent without Quidditch to interrupt him.

Professor Karkaroff himself oversaw his training each evening. The headmaster had even consented to have a fire lit in the classroom they used for practice. Many younger students came to watch the nightly duels, though Viktor wondered if it was truly the spells they came to see or the rarity of a brightly crackling fire.

By the middle of October, Viktor had memorized every spell in the five books his father had sent with him, as well as a few more that Karkaroff insisted upon.

The regimen continued until the last week before Halloween, during which Karkaroff, as well as most of the student body, came down with a cold.

"Rest up today," the headmaster had told him the morning before they were to leave for Hogwarts. His ears were still steaming from the pepper-up potion he'd been taking all week. "There will be no dueling tonight. Have your things ready, for tomorrow we leave at dawn."

Viktor, who had been in the process of lacing his boot, watched the professor stride out of his room and immediately turned to the window. Snow was still falling, but it had at last faded to a light, swirling mist.

Pulling on his heavy coat and scarf, he grabbed his broom from beside the fireplace where it had lain unused since his arrival. He glanced around the room for his cap but as it was nowhere to be seen, the young Bulgarian seeker went out onto the grounds without it to do what he did best.

At dawn, the group of seventh years heading to Hogwarts gathered at the edge of the lake where a large, enchanted ship had been anchored. Viktor could see Professor Karkaroff at the entrance of the castle speaking to the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Vincent, both of whom were still steaming at the ears.

Rubbing his nose, which ached with cold, Viktor pulled his robes tighter around him, regretting the decision to fly without his cap. He sneezed three times in quick succession causing the Headmaster, who had finally reached the edge of the lake, to frown deeply.

"Viktor?" The Professor asked, a look of concern on his face. "Are you feeling quite well?" He conjured a handkerchief and offered it to the boy.

"Yes, Professor." Viktor accepted the handkerchief, but did not use it.

Serge Poliakoff, a skinny, blonde haired boy in his year, feigned a fainting spell behind the Professor's back, causing several others to snicker. Though he and Viktor had gotten on in previous years, Serge had been bitter towards the young seeker since the beginning of the year and had been the only student to argue against Viktor as champion.

"But sir," Serge had began, the first evening they had begun dueling practice. "Professor Karkaroff, sir, if Viktor is to be the champion, vhy are ve also going to Ogwarts?" A Russian-born wizard, Serge came from a very old and wealthy family.

"Don't be a fool, Poliakoff." Karkaroff snapped. Rumor had it, that Serge's mother had refused the Professor in their school days in preference to Serge's father. A snub that seemed to persist to this day.

Looking over his students, Karkaroff sighed at their curious expression. Viktor, who stood near the fire, was also looking at him expectantly. The question had crossed the young man's mind as well.

"We are expected bring a number of contestants for the tournament," he explained, sending an annoyed look at Serge, who perked up.

"So any of us cood be chosen as champion?" Murmurs erupted among the seventh years in attendance.

"Silence!" All muttering ceased immediately. Karkaroff stared back at Serge, a superior look on his face. "Yes, my boy. That is correct. But do not be so foolhardy as to think you are worthy of being this school's champion." The Headmaster's harsh tone caused Serge's face to flush and he did not speak again.

He had, however, been cold to Viktor since that evening and was particularly ruthless when they were partnered to duel. His dislike seemed now to extend to mocking him behind the Headmaster's back.

Viktor tucked the handkerchief into his pocket, ignoring Serge's antics. Karkaroff slid an arm around his student's shoulders and steered him to the ship. "Once we're en route, I'll give you some of my potion. Or perhaps some nice brandy. You will be back to yourself in no time." The Headmaster enchanted Viktor's trunk so that it floated onto the ship before them and called the rest of the students, who each dragged their trunks, onboard.

The trip passed quickly as Viktor spent most of his time in his cabin, which would double as his home during the tournament, draped in furs and sleeping.

Once the ship had cast off, Professor Karakaroff had given him a Pepper-Up Potion (Viktor refused the brandy). Just after sunset, when the steaming in his ears had finally worn off, Viktor heard the Headmaster's magically amplified voice through his cabin stating that they would be arriving at Hogwarts shortly.

Viktor unwrapped himself from the furs and readied himself for arrival. Just as he was tightening the last strap of his boot, he heard a faint knock.

Opening the door, he found Danyal Kozlov, a short, stocky, dark-haired Russian boy in his year. While Viktor could not call him a close friend, the two had often paired together for classwork. Viktor respected Danyal's quiet nature and appreciated a classmate who did not feel the need to badger him with questions about Quidditch and his fame.

"The Headmaster asked that I see to your well-being," Danyal, though born Russian, had been raised in Britain by his mother and it always surprised Viktor that his deep, quiet voice had no accent. "He wanted me to make sure you'd be awake to greet our hosts. Are you feeling alright?"

Viktor nodded and thanked him, closing the door to his cabin behind him. The two boys headed together towards the exit of the ship.

"I have heard that the British have a ceiling that is enchanted to look like the night sky." Viktor was used to the many facts Danyal would occasionally divulge. The seeker had yet to hear anything from his classmate that had been incorrect, though Danyal always made it seem that he learned his information simply in passing conversations.

"Hmm," was Viktor's only reply.

They disembarked, catching up to the rest of the students on the shore.

Professor Karkaroff, upon spotting him, asked about his welfare and then the group marched up towards the sparkling towers of Hogwarts.

Groups of students lined the expansive lawns to greet them. Beside them, an enormous powder blue carriage stood strapped to equally giant horses, which were stamping their hooves and breathing out large clouds of white.

Viktor's nose still stung from the cold, though the Hogwarts air was not cold enough for snow.

He watched as Professor Karakaroff walked towards a tall wizard with long, shockingly white hair and a matching beard.

"Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

Karkaroff clasped hands with Dumbledore, as the latter replied, "Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff."

Viktor, who had fallen behind, stared up at the grand façade of Hogwarts castle. Windows glittered gold along the parapets, and huge wooden doors stood open, shining lights across the lawn.

"…Viktor, come along, into the warmth..." Karkaroff motioned him forward with his hand, and Dumbledore gave him a warm smile. "…you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight headcold…"

Karkaroff steered Viktor towards the door, a hand on his shoulder, as they walked by the rows of students.

"_Hannah, look!_ _Look!"_

"_Oy! That's Bulgaria's Seeker!" _

"_Pity they lost…_ _I won forty galleons in a bet though, forty!"_

"_It's Krum!"_

Viktor heard several excited whispers as they passed into the high-ceilinged entrance hall. They continued across the room and through a set of tall, heavy doors and sure enough the ceiling glittered with stars on a rich navy blue canvas, perfectly mimicking the outside sky.

Behind them the rest of the Hogwarts students filed in branching off towards their separate tables.

Viktor and the Durmstrang students waited near the doors until Karkaroff motioned them towards the far left table, before heading back towards the entrance hall. The group found seats among the black-robed Hogwarts students, still gazing up at the picturesque ceiling. Danyal, merely glanced upwards, before picking up one of the golden goblets on the table and examining it.

Viktor sat between a thin, blonde Hogwarts student with a pointed face and Danyal. The blonde boy offered Viktor his hand as soon as the latter was seated.

"Draco Malfoy. I saw you at the Quidditch Cup this summer. Amazing flying. Shame you lost to the Irish. I'm actually a seeker myself, for Slytherin house of course." Draco spoke with a confident smile.

Viktor returned his firm handshake but put off speaking altogether by focusing on removing his many layers.

Up at the front of the hall, the professors of the school – as well as his own Headmaster and an incredibly tall woman in swathes of powder blue, who he assumed was Headmaster of Beauxbatons – entered the hall and took their seats at a table at the head of the hall. Four long tables were filled with Hogwarts students, a small scattering of blue robed witches and wizards were seated at the tables beside his, looking as out of place as the Durmstrang students in their robes of blood red.

Dumbledore, who stood at the center of the professors' table, smiled brightly and addressed the hall at large.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

He informed the students that the Triwizard Tournament would begin at the end of the meal and wished them all a fine feast.

As soon as Professor Dumbledore sat, the golden plates and cups before them filled to the brim with food.

Viktor found that the boy beside him, Draco, was happy to make enough conversation for two, encouraged by the occasional nod or laugh. Draco seemed particularly fond of mentioning his father's work at the British Ministry of Magic and commenting on Quidditch.

Viktor was just finishing a piece of dessert that Danyal had motioned for him to try, when Draco's conversation turned repulsive.

"…really the only house to be in. All the others are polluted, what with the half-bloods and mudbloods running about. My father says…"

Draco was oblivious to the tensing of Viktor's shoulders and didn't see the way the seeker put down his fork, though it still speared a piece of trifle.

Having lost his appetite entirely, Viktor was immensely relieved when a moment later the plates became spotless and Dumbledore stood again, silencing Draco's ongoing monologue.

Dumbledore began by introducing Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch, who were from the British Ministry of Magic and were there to overlook the Tournament. He continued with a brief explanation of the tasks as a thin, skeletal-looking man ("…Filch the caretaker. Dirty squib." Malfoy supplied) entered with a large wooden chest encrusted with jewels.

Finally, Dumbledore told them something Viktor had not yet learned.

"The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire." At this, Dumbledore opened the chest and pulled out an aged, wooden chalice that was filled to the brim with blue-white fire.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion," Dumbledore continued, "must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet."

Viktor stared at the dancing flames of the goblet, as Dumbledore explained that they had twenty-four hours to enter their names and the champions would be chosen tomorrow night. Halloween.

Ignoring the mutterings of Draco as he contemplated ways of getting his name into the goblet, Viktor listened as they were told that an age line would be drawn around the goblet.

Dumbledore warned them that none should enter the Tournament lightly and then dismissed them with, "Goodnight to you all."

The Durmstrang students waited as their Headmaster headed towards them. Draco, flanked by two thick, dull-looking students on either side, bid the Durmstrang students farewell. Viktor did not acknowledge him, his face stoic though his blood was just shy of boiling at the disgusting things the blonde boy had said. Viktor had heard Hogwarts was a far more accepting school, but it seemed his thoughts were sorely mistaken.

The group followed Professor Karkaroff towards the entrance hall, pulling on their furred cloaks and scarves.

"Everyone, back to the ship then." Turning towards him, Karkaroff asked, "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough?" Viktor shook his head as the Professor continued to fret over him. "Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Behind them, Viktor heard Serge's voice.

"Professor, _I_ vood like some wine."

The Headmaster snapped at him, as Danyal snorted beside Viktor, before stopping abruptly. Viktor glanced at the dark haired boy who had caught his professor's attention. He looked vaguely familiar, as did the red-haired boy who stepped to his side. They were shortly followed by a girl who –

Viktor froze. He didn't notice his professor's words blurring together until they faded away entirely or Serge pointing at the dark-haired Hogwarts boy, as every fragment of the young man's awareness was overtaken by the dream in front of him.

She was here. She was standing there, the same chocolate curls reflecting the torches and starlight, the same bright eyes flickering between her companions and the Durmstrang headmaster.

She stood there unaware of the twists and turns Viktor's organs were suddenly experiencing. Every dream of her returned with full force and he realized his imaginings were nothing to the reality of her, a pale hand tucking a loose curl away, the entrancing light within her dark eyes.

For one brief moment, her gaze glanced across his and it was as though every molecule in his torso began to hum.

And suddenly it was over.

Karkaroff ushered his students out of the hall, blocking Viktor's view of her. They headed down the long expanse of lawn and back up the plank to their ship, none of the others realizing Viktor felt as though he'd been hit by a dozen stunning spells.

His head overflowing, Viktor accepted another potion from the professor and headed back to his cabin.

He undressed and readied for bed as though in a trance, and then lay down, uncovered, watching the spiraling tendrils of smoke that leaked from his ears.

His heartbeat thrummed in his head, the pit of his stomach still tied in knots.

He had never met this girl, never spoken to her, and yet somehow she held this power over him. He didn't understand it.

Perhaps it was the mystery. The hopelessness of desiring someone whom he would never see again.

When he'd seen her at the Quidditch Cup, she'd simply been a girl. An attractive girl, no doubt, but simply a girl with dark hair and clever, bright, bright eyes. Then he'd dreamt of her. She became the damsel to his white knight, he dreamed tournament upon tournament where his task was to rescue her. He imagined dragons and towers, deep forests and caves, and her, lovely and smiling, at every end.

And now she was here. Real and alive and not just his memory.

And worse still, as he threw his arm across his eyes to block out the dim greenish light of the lake, he realized…

He didn't even know her name.


	4. A Strange Case of Fate

Notes: Hi there! Sorry for the longer wait than usual, these chapters just seem to keep getting longer and longer. No beta this week, sadly, so again I apologize for any and all mistakes of any kind. Hope you enjoy!

**Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ Hogwarts**

**Chapter 3: A Strange Case of Fate**

He awoke the next morning, his head clearer.

His dreams had been interspersed with the mysterious girl, but as he lay in his bed, he realized how ridiculous it was.

Viktor knew nothing about her and as tempting as it was to search her out, he wondered if it would be better to leave the mystery as it was. She could be as flighty and brainless as the girls who screeched proclamations of love to him at his Quidditch matches or haughty and proud like the girls at his school or, worse still, cruel and prejudiced, like the blonde boy at dinner.

Yes. It would be best if the girl remained a mystery. He resolved not to look for her, preferring to leave his memory, his idealized dream of a girl, untarnished.

Besides, how crazy would it seem if he approached her? How would he begin?

_Hello, I saw you at the Quidditch Cup. We never spoke, but the brightness of your eyes entranced me? _

Even to himself, he sounded like an idiot.

And of course, she might not be interested in him; or worse, only interested in his fame, his fortune. She wouldn't have been the first.

No. He would leave it. As he already decided he would. And should he come across her again…well, he couldn't help if his stomach hummed at the sight of her, but it would pass, and he would treat her as he would treat any stranger.

A swift knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. He rose, simply pulling on the robes from the night before and opened the door. Professor Karkaroff stood in the corridor wrapped in his glistening silver furs.

"Wonderful, Viktor! Already up I see." His headmaster's eyes were twinkling with pride. "I knew you would be excited to get this done. Come, come, I've already gathered the others. Grab your cloak and we'll be off."

He handed Viktor a slip of paper and headed down the corridor to the ship's plank. It read,

_Viktor Krum_

_Durmstrang_

in Karkaroff's blocky script.

Viktor turned back into his room, pulling his cloak from where it lay on the floor, amazed how the presence of this girl could push everything from his mind. His sole reason for being at Hogwarts, the Triwizard Tournament, had fled from his brain entirely. Even at the Quidditch Cup, he'd somehow fleetingly forgotten his immediate defeat at the sight of her.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. He had to focus. Girl or no, he had a Tournament to win.

He grimaced, closing the door to his room and heading down the hall. Since Serge's comment about the impartial judge, Viktor couldn't deny he'd considered the possibility of _not_ being chosen as champion. The Goblet of Fire had only increased his worries.

At first, Viktor had agreed mostly to satisfy Karkaroff. However, after all his preparation, Viktor _wanted_ to compete. Expected it even, as presumptuous as it was.

But as it stood, he had just as high a chance of being selected as any of the others, even if he did have Karkaroff's blessing.

Seeing Viktor join the group, the Dumstrang Headmaster began the trek up the wide lawn to the castle.

The sun was just rising over the mountains throwing a golden sheen across the grounds. The lake reflected the rising light and the windows of the castle glittered, as they made their way through the massive oak doors.

Danyal fell in stride beside Viktor as they crossed the entrance hall.

"I considered writing your name instead of mine," Viktor's eyebrow rose at Danyal's comment, but his Russian classmate did not feel the need to elaborate further.

The castle was still quiet and it occurred to Viktor that the Hogwarts students might not choose to be awake at dawn on a Saturday.

The Durmstrang students entered the Great Hall and headed up the aisle to the brightly flickering goblet. It sat on a small stool in the center of the large room. Around it, traced onto the floor, was a thin gold line.

In an orderly fashion, each of the students stepped over the line and dropped their slips of paper into the goblet. Karkaroff stood beside it, watching until Viktor, who was last, approached him.

"I have every confidence in you," he murmured, as Viktor watched the flames engulf his piece of parchment. To the rest of the students he called, "Back to the ship."

They headed back to the entrance hall, and just as the group was passing through the door, Viktor caught a glance of a tall Hogwarts students slip behind them into the dining hall.

After a quick breakfast in the ship's galley, Viktor spent the rest of the morning in his room flipping through the pages of his father's books. Karkaroff had given them the day to themselves, allowing them to explore the grounds and castle. Viktor, intent on keeping his head level and resisting the temptation to go searching for _her_, resolved to stay in his room until the feast.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Danyal knocked on his doors just a few hours after they'd entered their names in the goblet.

"I've heard there's a giant squid in the lake." Danyal said by way of greeting, when Viktor answered the door.

Danyal waited expectantly as Viktor put down his book. He peered out of the small porthole and saw a line of powder blue clad students heading back towards the enormous carriage they called home. He huffed slightly, knowing that Danyal was asking him to explore the lake. Frustrated, he realized it was preposterous for him to hide from this girl, whom he'd never even spoken to.

He pulled on his cloak once more and followed Danyal out of the ship – an act that Viktor immediately regretted.

She was walking towards the wooden hut that stood between the great blue carriage and the wide forest. He knew it was she immediately. The wild, tangle of chocolate curls, the slight slope of her nose, he couldn't stop himself from recognizing her.

She was with those boys again, the one with the messy black hair and the vivid red head. The trio stomped up the short set of stairs and knocked on the door of the cabin. A large man with an untamed beard answered and they disappeared inside.

The door closed and down at the end of the plank, Danyal was looking at Viktor with a curious expression.

They spent an hour wandering around the edges of the lake.

Sure enough, a large tentacle was resting in a small patch of sunlight. Danyal gave the thing a friendly pat and the two students continued around the water's edge.

They had gone most of the time in silence, as neither of them was one for chatter.

"So, you recognized him too." Danyal said at length, once they were headed back towards the ship.

Viktor, who had spent most of the walk internally chastising himself, looked up at his companion with a mildly confused expression. "Who?"

"Harry Potter."

At this, Viktor's eyebrows rose. "Vhat?"

"The boy that we saw go into the cabin earlier. That was he, wasn't it? Karkaroff seemed surprised to see him last night." Danyal spoke with an air of nonchalance, as though they were speaking of the weather and not the boy who conquered the Dark Lord.

Viktor grunted in assent, though his mind was whirling to catch up with this new information. That must have been the cause of the commotion he'd missed after dinner. He again reprimanded himself for being so preoccupied with the existence of that girl.

Harry Potter. The information surprised him, though he vaguely remembered his mother pointing out some article about the Boy-Who-Lived and Gilderoy Lockhart a few years before. He was surprised at the time to realize the Potter boy had only recently begun school. And _she _was his friend, he realized belatedly. Not that it mattered, his mind quickly chimed in, as he didn't plan on interacting with either of them.

The two Durmstrang boys had returned to the entrance to the ship. Heading up the plank, Danyal acknowledged Viktor with a nod and disappeared down the corridor.

Viktor paused at the top of the gangway, glancing back at the small cabin. Smoke was puffing happily from the chimney and Hogwarts students were milling about the area, resting under trees and throwing Fanged Frisbees to one another. He noticed a group of girls giggling and pointing at him from beneath the branches of a large elm.

With a last glance at the closed cabin door, Viktor let out a breath of frustration and entered the dark interior of the ship, intending to stay within its confines until absolutely necessary.

It occurred to Viktor that fate must have enjoyed toying with him.

The sun had set and Karkaroff had just called everyone to head towards the castle. Viktor, now with fresh robes and reaffirmed constitution, stepped out of the dark dimly lit interior of the ship's corridor and cast a perfunctory glance at the cabin near the forest. The windows were yellow and bright, but Viktor spied it's occupant, the large, hairy man, who he presumed was the groundskeeper, speaking to the tall Headmaster of Beauxbatons. The two chatted a moment before heading up to the castle together, following just behind the handful of blue robed students.

Letting out a quiet breath of relief, Viktor continued down the plank and waited beside Professor Karkaroff at the water's edge for the rest of the students.

Unconsciously, Viktor looked back at the cabin, though in his mind he knew the trio of Hogwarts students had surely already gone up to the castle and would therefore be lost in the sea of black robed figures in the dining hall. So he could not control the way his body became rigid and immobile upon seeing that wild array of curls stepping down the stairs of the small hut, flanked by the red-haired boy and the-one-who-lived.

Karkaroff called his students forward and, with a brief nod to Viktor, headed towards the castle.

Viktor forced himself to fall in stride with the professor, keeping his eyes locked solely on the golden light spilling from the massive doorway.

He stared straight ahead of him all the way to a seat at Slytherin table, this time between Petra Anika, a Durmstrang witch to whom Viktor had rarely spoken, and a young Hogwarts students, who seemed so intimidated by the Bulgarian seeker that his small frame visibly shook.

Viktor ignored his dining compatriots, trying his best to keep his mind on the Goblet of Fire and its imminent selection, and trained his eyes on his food alone.

He managed to keep his gaze downturned until the plates became spotless once more and even as Dumbledore explained where the champions would go once they had been called.

Not until Dumbledore, with a great sweeping wave, extinguished all the candles besides those within the great pumpkins that decorated the hall, did Viktor finally dare look up.

In the dimness, it was impossible for him to spot her and the tension he'd felt since the ship left him.

With a great sigh that made the quivering first year beside him jump, Viktor focused all his attention on the Hogwarts headmaster and the fiery goblet before him.

The blue-white flames of the goblet continued to burn brightly, until it suddenly turned a deep red and began to spark. A large tendril of flame shot out like a whip and from it fell a slip of parchment, the edges charred and black.

The fire returned to its pale blue state and Dumbledore, who had caught the smoking bit of parchment, read the name with the light of the fire.

"The champion for Durmstrang," Viktor 's stomach gave a nasty lurch as Dumbledore paused, "will be Viktor Krum."

Cheers erupted across the hall, covering Serge's nasty swear, as Viktor stood and headed towards the professor's table. He turned right, as Dumbledore had directed, and out a plain, wooden door.

The closing door silenced the sound of applause and Viktor found himself inside a small chamber, the walls lined with portraits and a large fire roaring in the grate. Viktor stepped towards the fireplace, letting it's warmth wash over him. He allowed himself a brief smile.

He had done it. He was the Durmstrang champion.

Viktor leaned against the marble mantelpiece, staring into the flames. The pride in his chest settling as he realized this was only the beginning.

The anxiety began creeping up his spine almost immediately at the thought of the first task. It grabbed ahold of him and he wondered how he'd been so calm waiting for the decision of the champions.

The girl's face came unbidden to his mind, forcing away all nervousness and leaving a twisted knot in his core.

Viktor let out of a sound of frustration, slamming his hand down upon the mantelpiece and giving the sleeping wizard in the portrait above it a fright.

"Oh my."

Viktor ignored the voice of one of the portraits behind him and pressed his forehead against the cold marble.

It was a curse. He'd been cursed, put under some sort of spell, a love potion, _anything_ to explain this spiraling sensation that filled him when he thought of her.

_He'd never even _spoken_ to her!_

The door to the chamber opened, filling the small room with the sound of raucous applause before snapping shut to silence. Viktor lifted his head, but continued staring down at the fire, ignoring the Beauxbaton student that had entered.

He heard her pace around the room.

"Oh, a lovely girl," he heard the wizard in the painting beside him mutter.

Viktor glanced at his now opponent and recognized her. He knew immediately that she was part veela, haven spent a great deal of time travelling with them as the Bulgarian team's mascots. With so much interaction with them, Viktor rarely felt the power of their spell any longer. This girl was a few generations removed, he could tell, and though she was obviously quite beautiful, her close proximity did nothing to drive the bright eyes of his girl from his mind.

He groaned internally, frowning at the fireplace as he realized he'd thought of her as _his_ girl.

The door opened again to an absolute roar of sound and a tall, brunette wizard entered. From a swift glance, Viktor could tell he looked nervous but excited. He greeted the veela girl with a small introduction.

"Er, hello. I'm Cedric. Cedris Diggory. Nice to meet you."

"Fleur Delacour," the girl responded in a fluttery, accented voice. "Eet iz a pleazure."

Cedric turned to Viktor with an apprehensive smile, "No introduction needed for you, of course." Fleur looked unimpressed, but Viktor simply grunted in acknowledgement and returned to brooding.

The other two students began conversing but a moment later, the door opened again.

It was Harry Potter.

Now that he and Viktor had left the castle, Professor Karkaroff was muttering obscenities under his in rapid fire Russian.

**"…never would have imagined...scoundrels…cheats…" **Viktor understood bits and pieces of his comments, having picked up Russian words, and particularly swears, from his fellow students and also Quidditch teammates.

Switching back to English, Karkaroff addressed Viktor, "My apologies, Viktor. I would never have agreed to this sham of a tournament had I known what filthy cheaters Hogwarts would turn out to be."

By this point, the pair had reached the interior corridor of the ship. Karkaroff bid Viktor a goodnight, and continued down the opposite direction to his quarters.

Once in his room, Viktor stretched out across his bunk, robes and boots still on. He wondered at the fact that he did not feel wronged in any way by the Potter boy.

His expression seemed genuinely confused and partially fearful. Viktor knew at the very least that Harry Potter would not be much competition; he was obviously a few years younger and therefore wouldn't be nearly as prepared as the others.

Viktor felt almost…guilty, challenging this young student.

But there were other emotions that the arrival of the young dark-haired boy inspired in him. Emotions caused by the proximity of the-boy-who-lived and the witch who had taken over Viktor's mind.

Emotions akin to anxiety, apprehension, and…if he was entirely honest with himself…

Hope.


	5. Densaugeo

Notes: Many, many thanks to all the wonderful and lovely people who have reviewed; they are truly a delight to read and incredibly motivational. On a side note, I'll be leaving home for the next week to spend some quality holiday time with family. I can't be assured of their internet connection, but at the very latest you'll see the next chapter on day two or three of next year. I apologize and hope you don't mind the wait too much! (I will also be using this time to go back and re-edit some of the earlier chapter, I know I just wrote them recently, but some of my ridiculous errors are just far too strange to remain.) Apologies for the extended notes and again, no beta this chapter, so I'm sure editing mishaps abound, though I do hope you'll enjoy it anyway. Cheers!

**Thirty-Seven Galleons, Fifteen Sickles, Three Knuts ~ Hogwarts**

**Chapter 5: Densaugeo**

Viktor awoke Sunday morning as though the balloon in his chest had popped. What little optimism Harry Potter's entrance into the Tourament had inspired – in regards to his curly haired classmate – had faded in the night.

Though her friendship with the-boy-who-lived told Viktor that she obviously wasn't a prejudiced cad like the blonde Slytherin boy he'd met (or at least that's what he was choosing to assume), the Bulgarian seeker was still hesitant. He still knew nothing of her character and truly had no reason to approach her.

He therefore reaffirmed his resolve to ignore the feelings she stirred in him, and spent the rest of the day and the following few throwing himself back into his research of the Triwizard Tournament.

He spent most of his time on the Durmstrang ship, with the occasional exploration of the ground with Danyal, who seemed more than happy to simply have Viktor's company, though the two rarely spoke. They did not come across Viktor's mysterious girl again, which made the tension in his chest ease and allowed him to begin enjoying the treks through the sprawling grounds.

It had been almost a week since they'd arrived and Viktor had just returned to his room after a particularly long walk through the castle's many greenhouses, when his father's Great Horned Owl, Gwen, came swooping through the small port hole window.

She dropped two letters atop his unmade sheets and landed on the bedpost, where she began to preen her feathers. She waited until he had the letters in hand, allowing him to give her a short pet and nipped his finger, before spreading her wide wings once and spiraling through the porthole window again.

Viktor collapsed onto his bed and opened the letters. The first was from his father.

_**Viktor,**_

_** Congratulations on your entrance into the Triwizard Tournament. I had great faith in you and know you will do well. Do not get complacent now though, son, it is only the beginning. I have included the titles of some more books for you to study, I'm sure you will be able to find them in the school's library. **_

_**Your mother sends her love and encourages you to do your best. **_

_**We look forward to seeing you at the third task. **_

_** Your Father**_

Beneath his father's signature, there was a list of half a dozen book titles. Viktor placed the letter on his desk, glad to have a direction to continue his studies. He tore open the next letter.

**_Dear_****_est_****_ Viktor,_**

**_ We heard that you have been selected to participate in the Triwizard Tournament! We wanted to send you our congratulations! _****_Now that you're a champion, you'll get even more girls! If you need any advice you just write me._**

**_ I apologize, Zvetan thinks he's funny._**

**_ I AM funny, Natasha, you simply have no sense of humor. _****_Or taste in men, for that matter._**

Below the sentence was a smattering of lines and blotches that made Viktor assume a struggle had ensued.

_** Anyway, Viktor, know that we are all in support of you and that we look forward to your return to practice!**_

_** The Bulgarian Quidditch Team**_

Below the signature (Zvetan lost the right to finish the letter it seemed), each of the members had signed their names and a small note such as "Good luck!" At the very bottom of the page, squashed beneath Vladimir's loopy scrawl, Zvetan had signed his name and drawn a small frowny face.

Viktor chuckled at his teammates and placed the letter on his bedside table. As he released it, he noticed his hand had stained the parchment red. He hadn't realized, but Gwen's sharp beak had cut his finger.

He wiped away the blood noting that the cut was quite small, but blood continued to pour from it. He made a fist to contain the bleeding and left his cabin.

Their small ship did not contain a medical bay, but Viktor had heard something about a hospital wing and he headed back into the bright sunlight towards the castle.

It took him about ten minutes to find the wing, after stopping and asking a group of Hogwarts students, who stared at him in shock before answering and erupted into whispers once he'd walked away.

The elderly mediwitch, Madame Pomfrey, ushered him inside once he arrived, his fist now dripping with blood. She magicked away the droplets on the floor and cleared the red staining his hands before murmuring a few incantations.

His cut was immediately healed and she chastised him for not wrapping it in something before coming to her.

She excused him muttering about terrifying young students with a bloody fist and Viktor headed back down the hall away from the hospital wing.

He paused beside a wide window and stared out across the grounds. The Hogwarts castle was quiet as most students were in class, but he could see a few scattered groups lounging on the sunny lawn, wrapped in cloaks and house-colored scarves.

The sprawling grounds were much more impressive than Durmstrang's mostly ice covered fields, and part of him was glad to spend his last year of school at such a prestigious and glorious place.

Viktor had begun walking again and, just as his ears registered the sounds of hurried footsteps, he turned a corner and was barreled into by a dark robed figure with wildly flying chestnut curls.

In his mind, he bent to assist her, apologizing profusely. And that's what he would have done, if his heart hadn't stuttered to a stop.

He stared down at where she'd landed, sitting on the floor, but it took him a moment before he realized she was crying.

He knelt down immediately, all anxiety and panic dissolving. She was covering her face with her hands, her hair shielding her like a blanket.

"Are yoo alright?" He heard himself asking.

She nodded her head vigorously but Viktor was not convinced.

"Please," he continued, his heart aching at the way she curled into herself.

Viktor slowly reached out, so as not to startle her, meaning to brush the long tendrils of hair from her face.

She reacted instinctively and looked up at him.

Her eyes were bright red, tears streaking down her cheeks. The vibrant shade of her face made her dark eyes stand out and Viktor stared at their depth.

The movement of her hands, which were covering her mouth, broke the spell of her eyes. Viktor noticed the way her teeth poked from beneath the cover of her hands, having reached her navel and still growing.

Viktor recognized the jinx and pulled out his wand. The crying girl before him flinched at the sight, and he put a calming hand on her shoulder.

"I can help."

She stared into his eyes, expression tear stained and weary, but she nodded.

"Finite Inantatem"

Her teeth did not shrink back to their original size, but the growing ceased. Without thinking, Viktor grabbed her by the shoulders and helped her stand. Her hands still covered her mouth, but her crying had quieted, as he steered back into the hospital wing he had just left.

"Oh my goodness, Hermione Granger? What in the world happened?" Demanded Madame Pomfrey at the sight of them. The mediwitch pulled his girl away and sat her on one of the many cots in the room.

It was immediately evident that Hermione couldn't speak with her teeth that way and Madame Pomfrey pulled her wand out and began muttering incantations once more.

When she had finished and Hermione's teeth were visibly shrinking, Madame Pomfrey turned to Viktor. "Well, thank you Mr. Krum for escorting Miss Granger here. My word, the things I've seen at this school. It's as though we're teaching animals not students…" The mediwitch meandered away, disgruntled, to speak to a small mousy student that had entered the wing.

Viktor stepped hesitantly over to Hermione, who was looking determinedly at the ceiling. Her expression was torn between fury and tears. She looked up at him as she noticed his approach.

"Are yoo alright?" He asked again.

Hermione sighed and motioned helplessly to her teeth, which, though shrinking, were doing so at a much slower pace than they'd grown. She nodded however, and made a different motion with her hands.

"Mr. Krum?" Madame Pomfrey's voice called from behind Viktor, just as he was going to ask what she meant.

He turned as the witch continued, "It seems they are requiring you, Mr. Krum. Something about the Tournament. Mr. Creevey can escort you." Viktor nodded.

"Though how he knew you were here…doesn't miss a trick that man…" Madame Pomfrey continued chatting with herself as the small mousy boy waved shyly from the entrance.

Viktor turned back to Hermione. Her teeth had reached midchest, and he heard the mediwitch's heels clacking towards them to check on her patient.

Her great brown eyes stared at him curiously and he looked down, the fluttering in his stomach returning with a greater force than before, now that hi worry and panic ha dissipated.

"…get vell," he muttered gruffly, before departing.

Hermione stared after him as Madame Pomfrey fretted over her, her mind at a loss to explain what had just happened.

It wasn't until a week after the weighing of the wands that he saw her again.

Viktor had been haunting the library, pouring over the books his father had recommended. He enjoyed being there, it reminded him of his father's study at home, and he would spend his morning hours hidden among the stacks.

Karkaroff had reinstated the nightly duels and after a morning of reading, an afternoon of wandering the Hogwarts grounds (he told himself he just wanted to make sure she was alright), Viktor would duel his fellow students in an empty classroom.

That particular day, however, Viktor had lost track of time and had stayed in the library far past his usual hour, until most of the Hogwarts students were out of class. He tried to avoid doing this as a gaggle of Hogwarts witches had taken to following him whenever they could. He didn't mind so much, really, as they never actually bothered him, but in the library their giggles and hushed whispers were incredibly distracting.

Viktor had just heard the sound of one of these girls and looked up from his book at the clock, realizing the late hour. Turning his eyes back to his things, he noticed her.

Hermione was seated two tables away, three books laid out before her. A lump formed in his throat at the sight. She was nose deep in a heavy tome, her face back to its natural color and her teeth properly in her mouth. Her lips parted slightly as she read, and Viktor stood, meaning to walk over and ask her how she was.

His nerve crumbled as Harry Potter came up beside her, dumping an armload of books onto the large mahogany table.

The dark haired boy sat down and the two fell into hushed conversation.

Viktor slumped back into his chair. Of all the terrible scenarios that had played out in Viktor's mind, Hermione being enamored with the-boy-who-lived was not one of them. Certainly she seemed to spend much of her time with him and that red-headed boy (if the handful of times Viktor had seen her was any indication) but Viktor hadn't considered that she might be taken with one of them.

Viktor spent the next hour watching the pair, one part of him at war with the other. He realized he seemed crazy, watching the two as he sat flipping through books, but he couldn't seem to make himself leave. One the one hand, he thought he could find out for sure whether the two were an item. If it was true, Viktor may finally have a reason to stop dreaming of her and begin focusing on the first task, which was just a handful of weeks away.

On the other hand…if she wasn't with the Potter boy… Viktor didn't know what that would mean. They'd only spoken once now, but as Viktor remembered the incident, little things stood out to him.

The way she had looked so frustrated and upset as she stared down the Hospital Wing ceiling. Her flinch when he reached for his wand, then nodded when she agreed to his assistance. The hand motion she'd made just before he was called away to the wand weighing, which Viktor now assumed was meant to thank him.

All these things spoke to her character.

If she'd vain or proud she wouldn't have let him see her face or allowed him to help her. If she had been interested in his fame, he would have heard the whole story circulating the student body, yet he hadn't heard a whisper. If she was cruel or prejudiced….well, she probably wouldn't spend all her time with Harry Potter.

He realized these were all assumptions, but to him they spoke volumes and they made him curious about this bright-eyed girl that seems to have captured him.

When the light filtering in the thin windows of the library turned pale, Viktor finally left the library and headed to the ship to prepare for dueling.

As he crossed the darkening grounds, he stared up at the stars as they winked, one by one, into existence.

He didn't know if she was seeing the Potter boy. He didn't truly know if she was kind or cruel or mindless. He didn't know if she was interesting at all. He didn't know anything about her.

But as he stared at the sky, the inky darkness pierced by pinpricks of light, he finally admitted to himself that he wanted to.


End file.
